


Abstraction

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Demon Deals, Demons, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27205535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: Harry shifted at the sudden tightness in his pants, eyes looking anywhere but Voldemort’s reptilian, unattractive(unbelievably appealing)face. He didn’t know what to do — he hadn’t really prepared for what would happen if it did work.“I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to try out a spell I found. I don’t actually have any enemies—”“You do have enemies, boy, or the summon wouldn’t work.”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973395
Comments: 4
Kudos: 136





	Abstraction

**Author's Note:**

> "Day 6" fic.
> 
>  **Prompts:** Horns, cock worship
> 
> Thanks Brie for beta'ing, thanks enablers for helping me out with my demon dick~ love you all!

“I summon thee,” Harry spoke as clearly as possible, trying to keep the wobble from his lips. This wording was ridiculous, like a hoax or a joke. “To bringeth on myself the power to defeat mine enemies.”

One second past, then ten, thirty. Of course it was fake. The wording alone should’ve been enough warning. He closed his eyes, stretching his arms as far above his head as he could, yawn on his lips. He hadn’t slept well last night, and it was already showing. If only Aunt Petunia didn’t make him get up at the crack of dawn… He allowed himself a wistful sigh at the thought.

He hated it at the Dursleys, but he also knew they were the only family he had left, the last step before homelessness — as he’d been threatened with many times before. Sometimes he fantasised about running away or getting his own apartment in London, but they could never be anything more than distant dreams with the way the Dursleys acted. They wouldn’t let Harry leave despite how much they hated his guts. However, there was hope in a jar under a loose floorboard, lid screwed on as tightly as possible. Hundreds of pounds rolled up tightly, all the money he’d found in the streets or the schoolyard over the last eighteen years.

“Fascinating.”

The voice was cold and high, startling as it broke through the silence. Harry whirled around, eyes wide.

There he was, in all his serpentine glory. Lord Voldemort. His slitted red eyes watched Harry curiously, his pupils engorging as he raked his eyes down Harry's body. Harry flushed, wishing he could curl his body away from that all-seeing gaze. He thought Voldemort would be able to see right through him anyway, no matter what he did. He watched, transfixed, as Voldemort’s tongue — slitted, oh God — darted out to wet his lips, eyelids lowered temptingly, tauntingly.

Harry shifted at the sudden tightness in his pants, eyes looking anywhere but Voldemort’s reptilian, unattractive ( _unbelievably appealing_ ) face. He didn’t know what to do — he hadn’t really prepared for what would happen if it did work.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to try out a spell I found. I don’t actually have any enemies—”

“You do have enemies, boy, or the summon wouldn’t work.”

“I—” Harry flew through the air, coming to a stop at Voldemort’s feet. “What?”

“Hm,” Voldemort said consideringly, ignoring Harry’s question like he’d never vocalised it in the first place, and smiled. His sharp canines showed, and Harry couldn’t help but gulp. “You’ll do fine.”

“What?”

“You talk too much.” With a wave of Voldemort’s hand, a strange, silky ribbon fitted itself around Harry’s head, a thick knot slipping into the crease of his mouth and forcing his teeth apart. Voldemort had the audacity—

It really shouldn’t arouse him this much. But here he was, lying at a near all-powerful being’s feet, gagged and aching for him.

“I will deal with your enemies for you, but I don’t want your soul. I already had it, didn’t I?” Voldemort’s fangs gleamed. “I wouldn’t be in this form otherwise.”

It was true, Harry was very gay and very proud of it, despite the Dursleys trying to “stamp it out of him”. Destined for Hell, they called him. Apparently, they were right.

However, he didn’t understand what Voldemort meant by his last comment. Maybe he appeared in the form that would attract the summoner the most? That sounded like a stretch, even to Harry. He wished he could ask, but the ribbon stopped him, beyond garbled sounds.

“I want something else from you.” Voldemort paused dramatically. Harry tensed, worried. Would this be some awful deal, like his firstborn, or his life? “Your virginity.”

Oh. Oh, this was—

His breath shot out of his lungs.

Even if he wasn’t too happy about Voldemort killing the Dursley’s, he couldn’t think of a better way to lose his virginity. Voldemort was a demon, ancient and powerful — he’d certainly know more than Harry did.

He froze as Voldemort parted his robes, eyes shooting down to the bulge hidden in his pants. He hardly noticed the way he moved closer, holding his breath as he watched it get closer and closer to his eyes, his hands, his mouth. A couple of buttons were all that kept Harry from seeing what he held, and soon they were gone too.

Harry didn’t even notice the gag disappearing, gasping as he sank to his knees and salivating as he stared at the cock in front of him. It was huge, at least the size of Harry’s forearm (though he could admit that wasn’t… unrealistically sized — he was rather short), and thick, and underneath had small fleshy bumps. The head had a ring of those curious protrusions as well, angled downwards like an upside-down crown. He wanted to weave his tongue between them, to feel them against his tongue, to—

The realisation that he _could_ do that, he could touch it and taste it made his head spin. He looked up, meeting Voldemort’s impatient slitted eyes and leaned forward, determined to take it all.

The cock was smooth against his tongue and those little spikes bent slightly when he reached them, not sharp like he’d imagined. He couldn’t take Voldemort’s cock very deep, sinking only a few inches before he had to stop, choking a bit. He wasn’t very sure what to do, but Voldemort’s hand landed on Harry’s head, curling through his hair and gently coaxing him down again, filling his mouth once more. He bobbed his head carefully, wiggling his tongue against the weight filling his mouth and Voldemort rewarded him with a groan, hand tightening.

Voldemort carefully eased Harry’s head down, further and further until he hit the back of his throat and he couldn’t take any more without gagging.

“Relax,” Voldemort said and he did. The next bob of his head had the tip of Voldemort’s cock slipping further than before, breaking past the seal of his mouth and into his throat. His eyes widened, and he almost pulled back to exclaim over it, but Voldemort held him firmly in place. He tried not to struggle, but _he couldn’t breathe and suddenly he was choking_ —

Voldemort pushed him back and he swallowed desperately, his throat thick and strange. He gasped for breath and Voldemort watched him, clearly displeased.

“I’m sorry,” Harry choked out and blinked at the rasp in his voice. He sounded wrecked, like he’d been absolutely destroyed and not just held Voldemort’s monstrous cock in his throat for a few seconds.

Voldemort looked particularly satisfied at his state, said, “Make it up to me then, boy.”

Harry darted forward once more, running his tongue over the head, curling the tip around the weird spines. They seemed more sensitive than everything else and Harry took the cock deep into his mouth to the chorus of Voldemort’s heavy, hitched breaths. He didn’t know if he could take it into his throat again but he tried, pressing it so deep he almost choked and had to pull away, eyes welled with tears. But he kept working at it, stubborn enough that Voldemort helped him out, subtle magic tingling at Harry’s throat.

When it slipped back into his throat he didn’t panic, didn’t swallow around it and carefully held his breath as best as he could. He bobbed his head, not letting it escape from the depths of his throat, slowly sliding down to take more. He wondered if it showed, the massive cock bulging his throat like he imagined it did. His cock stiffened in his pants.

Voldemort thrust slowly, staying in Harry’s throat. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as Voldemort finally reached as far as he could go, Harry’s nose pressing against his hard pelvis. There was something so dehumanising about it, about Voldemort grabbing Harry’s hair and moving his head back and forth on the monstrous shaft. The soft spikes rubbed his tongue in such a strange way he wasn’t sure whether to be aroused or weirded out.

Arousal won out easily and Harry pressed a hand to his clothed cock, longing to relieve the pressure as Voldemort started fucking his face harder and harder. Spit drooled down his chin, tongue moving as best as it could against the sheer thickness of the shaft this far down. He loved it, he could admit that much, being turned into a mess for it. He wanted to be a mess for Voldemort, for his cock.

It wasn’t long until Voldemort was pulling Harry’s head along his cock like a human sex toy, using his face for his own pleasure. He slammed in, holding Harry as deep as he could until he shook from the lack of air, and Voldemort groaned as Harry pushed at his legs, trying to catch his breath.

“You can take it.” Harry wished he could shake his head, because _no, no he couldn’t_. But he did, despite the lack of air. Voldemort pulled away when he became lightheaded and he swallowed, finally emptying his mouth of the excess saliva. He swiped at his eyes, brushing away the streaming tears and Voldemort held himself out again, clearly waiting for Harry to hurry up. He wiped his mouth and steadied his breathing.

He could do this, he could take it. He had before.

Harry clenched his fists and took the tip into his mouth again, licking the slit, tasting the pre-come beading there. He kissed up the shaft, teasing licks along the ridge of bumps along the bottom. He flicked his eyes up, meeting blown black pupils and slid the length into his mouth, letting Voldemort take control again, fucking into his throat with ease. He held his breath as best as he could, eyes welling up once more.

It didn’t take Voldemort long until he was close, hips stuttering and breathy moans slipping out of his lips. Suddenly, Voldemort pulled out until only the tip remained in Harry’s mouth, ignoring his hoarse whine at the loss. It twitched and come burst onto his tongue, warm and strangely textured. He swallowed, but more kept coming, spurt after spurt landing on his tongue. It gathered thick in his throat and he couldn’t swallow any more, letting it dribble down his chin. Voldemort pulled out entirely, jerking himself as he finished, warm spunk landing on Harry’s face.

He wanted it back in him, he wanted it inside his throat, his arse. He whined again but Voldemort smiled, his teeth poking over his lip. He knelt in front of Harry, and he was struck at just how dangerous Voldemort was; he could kill Harry right where he sat with hardly a flick of the wrist. And yet, Harry wanted it, wanted _him_.

Hermione had always called him a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but this really solidified it.

“No, I think it’s time for the main course.” Voldemort trailed off, and Harry’s palms moistened, fingers slipping against the button of his jeans in his eagerness.

He couldn’t wait.


End file.
